Sweet Dreams
by FieryArcher
Summary: A short, sweet tale from Laura Hardy's point of view. Reference to Iola Morton's death as written in the Case File series.


"Sweet Dreams"

The Story

"Can you read me the candy story Mommy? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaasssse?"

Laura Hardy brushed away blonde strands of hair waving around her face. "Alright Joey, go get Mommy the book."

The bright, blue eyes of the five-year-old danced with excitement when he returned, a slim paperback clutched tightly to the chest of his red Power Ranger pajamas. "I want you to read the part about Augustas Poop."

"Augustas _Gloop_." The other boy, seated on the floor, corrected with a shake of his shaggy, dark hair, "The fat boy's name is Augustas _Gloop_."

"The grea' big greedy nincom_POOP_!" Joey threw himself backwards, next to his mother on the trundle bed and giggled himself into the wiggles. Laura shook her head and shushed her son. "I can't read the story Joey if you're loud; remember, Daddy is sleeping."

"Yeah," the boy on the floor pouted, "I want to hear the story too!"

"Hush, Frank. You wait." Laura began to thumb through the yellow-edged pages of the book, her eyebrows knitting together with concentration. "I have to find the right chapter first," It took less than a minute to locate the requested part of the story. "Aha!" She turned the book outward to show the pictures. "Here it is, Chapter 17: Augustas Gloop Goes Up the Pipe."

Joey slid off the mattress, onto floor and sat crossed-legged next to his brother on the thin, dingy carpet. Laura smiled widely at the two, eager, upturned faces before her. She cleared her throat and began to read, "When Mr. Wonka turned round and saw what Augustas Gloop was doing, he cried out, "Oh no!""

"Oh, no!" Joey mimicked, his eyes wide.

"_Please_, Augustas," Laura continued, "_please_! I beg of you not to do that. My chocolate must be untouched by human hands!"

"That contaminates the chocolate." Frank said knowingly. Laura nodded her acknowledgement of this intelligent piece of information and went on with the story. Using various voices Laura entranced her two children with the horrible accident of the fat, greedy little boy known as Augustas Gloop; his fall into Wonka's river of chocolate, the great glass pipe that sucked him up and away, and the Oompa-Loompas' song about the possibility of the enormous boy being made into chocolate-coated fudge.

All the while the two boys followed along, their eyes growing wider and wider, gasping as Mrs. Gloop screamed that her son would soon be enjoyed all over the world, and laughing at Mr. Wonka's assurance that the taste of "Augustas-flavored chocolate-coated Gloop" would be so awful no one would ever buy any.

On she read with Joey shrieking with laughter, and having to be shushed, at the antics of Mr. Wonka's genius inventions and Frank's spoken resolution to invent candies shaped like toy cars and airplanes so that they could eat sweets whenever their mother thought they were playing. Laura had to stop reading at that point because she was laughing too hard to continue.

"And how would you keep me from _smelling_ the sugar on your breath?"

"That's easy," Frank said brightly, "I'll put lots of minty in it so that you would think it was toothpaste."

A tear trailed from each eye as Laura laughed even harder.

"Wha…what a smart…boy you are…Franklin!" Joey crawled into her lap and tugged at the book, now demanding to hear the part where the squirrels dump the little girl down the great big hole in the floor. "We can't skip the first little girl, Joey. We have to read about Violet before we get to Veruca."

The little boy's face wrinkled up and his cheeks tinged pink. "But I don't like the gum girl. She turns purple."

"That's because she chews gum all day." Frank pulled himself onto the bed and leaned his dark head onto his mother's arm. "You don't chew gum, so you won't turn into a blueberry."

"Very good, Frank," Laura wrapped her right arm around her oldest son, "You can't possibly turn into a blueberry."

A sniffle came from her lap. "But…I eat…blueberries…" there was another sniff, and then a choked sob. Laura placed the book on its face at the foot of the bed. "Come here." She pulled both boys to her and lay down on the bed. "Somebody is tired."

"No…no I'm…not." Joey rubbed his eyes, and then rubbed his face against the shoulder of his mom's shirt as he cuddled close to her, shoving his brother towards the edge of the mattress.

"Hey," Frank pushed Joey in an attempt to get back next to their mother, "You took my spot, that's not fair! Mommy, Joey's not being fair."

Laura shushed both of the boys, stroking Frank's hair and kissing Joey's forehead. "It's quiet time now boys." Softly, she hummed a slow song and gradually the sniffling quieted until it became deep breathing broken only by the occasional shuddering breath. Craning her neck at an awkward angle, so as not to wake any sleeping children, Laura gazed at the tear-streaked face of her youngest son and smiled.

Slowly, one tiny movement at a time, she eased her arm out from under Joey's head. With another one of those shuddering breaths the boy shifted, one hand tangling itself in his wheat-blonde hair as the other cradled itself against his neck. "My beautiful boy," she whispered, leaning in to kiss the top of his head. She then turned to her oldest son. Frank was lying on his side, his back to his brother. His legs were curled up towards his chest, one hand caught between his knees the other arm was wrapped around his chest, the hand clutching at the sleeve of his left arm.

"My little genius." Laura sat up and carefully straightened out his bangs with her fingertips. After another moment of admiring her two angels she pushed herself from off the bed and, cautiously, covered them with a blanket that had, until now, lay crumped at the foot of the bed on the carpet. "Sweet dreams you two." She picked up the book, dog-eared the page for a marker, and turned to leave the room.

A dark figure stood leaning against the door frame. He was smiling at the two sleeping forms, his arms crossed over his broad, shirtless chest.

"I'm sorry if we woke you." Laura was standing next to him before the tired, but warm, brown eyes turned toward her. He reached for the book in her hand and chuckled softly when he saw the title. "After that story their dreams ought to be _coated_ with sugar." He then took her hand in his. "You are a wonderful mother to our children, Laura. I want you to know that."

Pleasure, and a little bit of pride, spread itself throughout Laura's features as she tipped her head back, stretched up, and brushed a kiss against the man's cheek. "Thank you, Fenton."

Fenton Hardy frowned. "If that's all I get after such a big compliment I think I'll have to come up with some new ideas to earn a _proper_ kiss."

Laura playfully shoved him into the hall way and against a wall before she wrapped her arms around his neck and proceeded to cover his face with kisses. Fenton groaned, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close as he returned each kiss with fervor. "Honey," Laura gasped, "Not in front of the boys' room, _please_."

"You started it." The reply was muffled against her hair. A sudden, sharp dinging noise erupted from somewhere nearby. Fenton pulled away long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a rather battered looking pager. As he read the digits across the narrow face his eyes grew cold and his body stiffened as his arms fell away from his wife. "I have to go." He disappeared into their bedroom down the hall and returned fully clothed, with a badge in his hand, a gun strapped to his hip and pulling on a coat.

"Fenton," Laura caught at his arm as he started past her, "please be careful."

Fenton stopped and turned towards her, his eyes softening a fraction as he kissed her once more. "I'll be as careful as I can be."

"One day," Laura said with conviction, "You'll be able to tell _someone else_ to go after all the bad guys in the world." Fenton laughed, kissed her again, and left quietly by the front door. "I love you." Laura whispered aloud to the darkened house.

_Thirteen Years Later…_

Laura's footsteps were muffled by the thickly carpeted stairs as she slowly made her way upstairs with the aid of the freshly polished wooden banister. The day had been long and hot, with hardly a breeze to stir the stale air and not a cloud in the sky all day long. That the stifling atmosphere was not felt in the air-conditioned home was something for which she was thankful.

She leaned down at the top of stairs to pick up a pair of slippers that lay against the wall and continued on down the hall until she came to an open doorway on the right. Walking in she stumbled on another pair of shoes, which she shoved aside with one foot, and placed the slippers next to cluttered dresser that was to the left of the doorway.

Even in the dim light from the hallway Laura could see many miscellaneous items that lay scattered over the carpeted bedroom floor. She sighed and picked her way carefully over to the back wall where the lumpy form of the bed was pushed into the corner. Coming to the bed she leaned over the prone figure that was sprawled across the mattress.

Joe, as he now insisted on being called, had one arm wrapped around his pillow in a loose hug while his free hand was draped across the back of his neck. His long, runner's legs had kicked off the covers sometime after falling asleep and now both the rumpled sheet and comforter lay half on and half off the bed. Laura brushed back a lock of his golden-blond hair before pulling the blanket back up over the lower half of her son's body. He moaned in his sleep, calling out a name that broke her heart to hear.

She quickly turned to leave the room and caught sight of the only clean space on Joe's dresser. The image of a dark-haired, pixie-faced acrobat in her suit beaming out from a pristine frame causing Laura to rapidly blink back tears at the memory of the agony that had nearly destroyed her son's life. Her whole family had been rocked by the explosion that removed Iola Morton from the world.

Laura touched thorn-less stem of the fresh, white rose that lay in front of the memorial photograph. She smiled and glanced back at the sleeping form of her son. In three hours, he would be slipping out to hold his monthly, midnight commemoration, alone. Laura pried herself away from the memories and left the room, lest the sound of her choked sob wake the sleeping young man.

Drying the tears with a rub of her shaking hands, Laura went on to the room next door and was surprised to see a light still illuminating a corner of the room. Frank, thin from his recent bout with the flu, was still sitting up over a text book. He _was_ _sitting_ in his desk chair, but his upper chest, shoulders, arms, and head was sprawled over the book, his notes, and a good part of the desk itself. The study lamp, an antique find from a maiden aunt, was still lighting the workspace with a soft yellow light.

Laura pulled a sweater from a line of hooks that was lined up next to the bedroom door and placed it across her eldest son's shoulders. She leaned over, careful not to wake him, and pulled the cord that signaled the lamp to close shop for the night. In the dim light from the hallway Laura glanced over the spotlessness of the room, an exact opposite to Joe's room, and thought about how different her sons were in their habits. _'Like roses and weeds.'_

She cocked her head; there was one thing out of place. A black and white stripped notebook that was scuffed, dog-eared and had whole sheets of paper slipping out from between the covers. Laura opened it up and was surprised to see a drawing of a tall, lean man dressed in a purple, tailed coat and carrying a top hat and cane in one hand. The crooked, almost mischievous, smile that lifted only one eyebrow sent her thoughts in the direction of researching scholarships for animation schools, until the detailed model airplanes that occupied a bookcase all their own reminded her of her son's career choice.

Placing the notebook back on the dresser, Laura started back towards the hallway and the comfort of her own soft bed. A dark figure met her at the door. "Should we wake him and say, 'get into bed'?"

Laura ran her hands up the shirted front of her husband's chest. "I think he will sleep better where he is, for now." Fenton, his dark hair now heavily threaded with silver, wrapped both his arms around his wife and pulled her in close. "Does he still follow Joe out at night?"

Laura breathed in deeply the fresh scent of water and Irish soap. He had taken a shower. "He leaves after Joe, but he gets back in time to pretend to be asleep when Joe comes in."

"And you," Fenton squeezed a little tighter, "Wait up for the both of them." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, "Have I told you recently what a wonderful mother you are?" Laura pushed back to look up into her husband's face. "Do you know how glad I am that you work from home?"

Fenton chuckled, and brought his lips into focus over her lips. "What was it you would always tell me? 'One day you'll be able to tell someone else to go after the bad guys of the world?'" He kissed her then and began a slow, backward shamble towards their bedroom near the top of the stairs. "We have time now. Why don't we make some dreams tonight?"

Laura smiled as she followed with slow, anticipative steps into the darkness of their own room, "Will they be sweet dreams?" Her husband's chuckle reverberated up her arms even as he gently kicked the door shut. "The sweetest!"


End file.
